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Whatever asinine feelings I had toward him wouldn’t be any exception.
Yet, it didn’t stop the deep, sinking ache from forming inside my chest as he walked away. His silent dismissal told me everything I needed to know.
The door shut behind him, and I collapsed onto the bed, willing my nerves to settle and my heart to calm. As much as I hated to admit it, Talon had a point. I couldn’t wear that dress unless I wanted to be indebted to the prince, but I’d be damned if I didn’t go to the ball either.
Rubbing a hand along the back of my neck, I rolled onto my stomach. There had to be something else—another way. I surveyed the room, ransacking my brain for any ideas, when my eyes landed on the mulberry wine-colored curtains.
The perfect solution slammed into me like a stampede of horses: I’d make my own.
I sat up on my knees—the only thing I needed was a pair of scissors and some thread. Surely, I could whip something up that didn’t require those things, but I had a point to prove. A statement to make. This couldn’t be half-assed.
Jumping out of the bed, I slipped out of my chambers, keeping to the shadows along the wall.
I breezed down each hallway.
Whispers came from ahead, and I ducked into a nearby enclave, keeping as still and quiet as a mouse as two fae guards passed. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, their voices low and muffled, but I relaxed into the wall when they didn’t spot me.
Once they rounded a nearby corner, I continued and eventually slipped inside the textile room to my right. The room was empty. No fae seamstresses in sight as I shuffled through the drawers and cabinets. I thought about the consequences—the moral dilemma—if any, should someone learn anything went missing. It wasn’t lost on me how easily they could link it back to me after I appeared in a one-of-a-kind dress and my curtains were missing chunks of fabric, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.
What was the worst they could do to me that hadn’t already been done? I’d return the items before anyone noticed, I told myself, and pocketed a pair of scissors and a plum-colored spool into my vest, making sure the coast was clear before I wandered back out of the hallway.
Now returned to the safety of my chambers, I locked the door behind me and removed my curtains from the rod to splay them flat on the floor. I might not have had my mother’s treadle sewing machine to help me get this done in a timely fashion, but I had a couple hours to spare, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t been in this predicament before. Mother’s machine was constantly malfunctioning, so I’d learned how to sew by hand in a pinch.
Folding the fabric in half, I cut it into two pieces and laid the panels one on top of the other. I cut out a pattern I knew from heart, starting from the base and up the sides, working my way to the neckline. It was a basic dress template I’d used before, but instead of the short sleeves I’d typically cut, I went with a more whimsical bell-shaped sleeve that’d flow with every movement.
I sewed the panels together next, pulling and tugging at the thread to get it to bunch for the most flattering drape on my body. I did the same with the skirt, my fingers growing sore as I left enough fabric to trail along the floor and used a spare piece of fabric to tie the two sections together and cinch my waistline.
Wiping sweat from my neck, I picked the gown off the floor and laid it on the bed while I undressed. Sewing it took much longer than I’d expected, and I needed to hurry if I planned to be on time.
Slipping the delicate fabric over my head, I twirled in front of the floor-length mirror, admiring my work. The velvety soft fabric was classy yet shapely. A vast difference from the dress the prince wanted me to wear. The color brought out the red strands in my hair, and for a moment, I felt normal. As if I wasn’t stuck inside a prison disguised as a beautiful, enchanting castle.
Heading into the washroom, I released my hair from the bun on top of my head and allowed my tresses to flow freely over my shoulders. Coating my strands with water, I curled my hair around my fingers, twisting and turning in different directions to accentuate my curls.
I wished I had some blush for my cheeks to make me look more alive after the ordeal of earlier. To conceal the perpetual exhaustion that hung below my eyes. But, like everything else, I needed to make the best of what I had.
With a quick pinch to my cheeks, it was the best I’d be able to get. I was ready to go. A ping of melancholy jabbed me in the ribs as my reflection stared back at me one last time—I always tried to avoid it. The vacant and detached eyes that stared back were a harrowing reminder of how much I’d already lost. How much King Harkin had stolen from me.
Not tonight, I told myself. Tonight, I’d show the king how he’d never smother my fire.
Twenty-Four
Loud orchestral music played from behind the closed doors of the Grand Hall. The rich, graceful melody of violins and flutes rang through the air, as did the murmurs of a sizable crowd.
The symphony of our death.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood as the haunting memory of being herded into the throne room to learn of our fate replayed in my head before all hope vanished. Wiping my hands down the lace dress, I lifted my chin and pulled the ornate door open.
Large candle chandeliers hung from the trusses—the ceiling, enchanted with thousands of night stars. Unlike I’d seen it before, an entire twinkling cosmos lined the upper rafters of the room.
My breath hitched.
Tea light candles wrapped around columns that resembled tree trunks. An assortment of wildflowers and moss covered the walls, and vines hung along the banisters. The polished floor glittered under the lights. It was magical. Like a miniature forest inside the castle.
Coming to a stop at the edge of the rustic staircase, the music receded, and the fae court below halted their conversations and paused their dancing to look up at me.
My chest heaved from the sudden attention, but I steadied my chin. I wanted to bolt—regretting my decision to come.
Then I saw him.
